At The Bottom of Everything
by AndSheWasBeautiful
Summary: -"I'm hurt you think I didn't take interest in your Games, Miss Mason. I was enraptured, thrilled. In fact you killed both of my Tributes in the space of… 3 seconds? Mercifully of course. You're such a… giving person." She can hear the smirk in that golden boy voice, dripping with honey, oozing sexual promiscuity and Johanna wraps her fingers around her glass so tight it shatters


**At The Bottom of Everything.**

**A _Hunger Games_ Fanfiction.**

**By AndSheWasBeautiful.**

* * *

Johanna's heel cracks and her foot lands in a muddy puddle.

It rarely rains in the Capitol. They can control trivial things like the weather, like the forces of nature. But on the outskirts of the Capitol, creeping out into the wilds between the Districts is decidedly seedier that the inner, glimmering streets of the metropolis.

Johanna reaches down and yanks the shoes from her feet, leaving the overpriced, bejewelled, _ridiculous_ looking things to rot at the sides of the street because she doesn't give a _damn_ anymore and she just wants _out_ and she _needs_ to _get out_ –

But she will _never_ get out.

One of the rules of being a successful victor.

A victor will _never_ leave the arena.

She runs a hand through sodden hair, the shimmering gold paint trailing along the backs of her hands running into the mahogany strands, causing the water to make it sparkle. Her makeup is running in thick streams and she sniffs and spits in disgust.

Her dress is sticking to her chest, the thin outline of her panties on full show, and she picks up the hem and pulls as hard as she can, ripping the layers of gossamer and dumping them on the side of the street too.

She smirks in approval.

She likes destroying things that they have made, or given her, or _stolen_.

It is still pouring as she walks closer to the centre of the Capitol and she hopes no one recognises her in this disgusting state – a victor would never look like this – hopefully no one will approach her and try and purchase her _time_ again.

It has stopped raining as Johanna reaches the centre of the Capitol, and keeps her head down as she makes for her hotel. Upon arriving, and doing her best to ignore the disgusted shrieks erupting around her, she makes her way to the lobby bar and slams her fist, glaring at the barkeep.

"Double scotch. If there's ice in it, you'll find it in five unpleasant places in a matter of seconds. Go. Run," she shoots, her lip curling in distaste as he scrambles to heed her. It's not the stupid Avox's fault he's dumb, but when people don't answer her, Johanna can't help but loathe them.

She sits back on her chair, and the Avox sets the drink down in front of her. She holds it to her lips a moment, and motions as though toasting him.

"Here's to you. Being stuck in this fucking place against your will just like me."

An arm, spray painted so the skin is a glowing golden colour reaches past her to get a drink from the Avox, and accidentally brushes her side.

It still burns from that other _bastards_ touch, and Johanna's patience snaps as she snatches the wrist and shoves the strong form away from her.

"You obviously didn't see my Games, buddy. But I'll give you a hint as to what went on – you can fashion a nifty knife out of a piece of broken glass."

"I'm hurt you think I didn't take interest in your Games Miss Mason. I was enraptured, thrilled. In fact you killed both of my Tributes in the space of… 3 seconds? Mercifully of course. You're such a… giving person."

She can hear the smirk in that golden boy voice, dripping with honey, oozing sexual promiscuity and Johanna wraps her fingers around her glass so tight it shatters. The Avox's eyes widen, and he reaches forth to brush it away from her before she can make good on her promise.

She swivels on her chair, tucking loose strands of gold stained hair behind her ears, her smile sweet as the sugar cubes he loves to eat.

"Why, Finnick. To what do I owe the positively _orgasmic_ pleasure of being in your presence?" she says, fluttering her lashes.

Finnick lifts her hand, and grins at her, those aquamarine eyes glittering. His voice is almost inaudible, but rich and melodic all the same to Johanna's ears.

"Why, Johanna. Has the Capitol manipulated you so much you're speaking like a pretty little maid these days?"

She jerks her hand away before those golden painted lips can meet her flesh, her eyes flashing darkly as her smirk remains.

"If a pretty little maid fucks fat old men for no gain of her own, then yes, the Capitol's done a bang up job. Speaking of banging things, how's life treating you, Finnick?"

His grin is wicked and quick, and he slips into the seat next to her, dropping the drink back in one go and gesturing for another. He uses this second tumbler to gesture at her sodden form.

"I'm more interested in why you're looking…"

"So dazzling?"

"Like you've had a trip to District 4 and back. The land of my birth is beautiful, but the ocean is a cruel mistress," he winks at her, throwing his head back dramatically, his bronze tinted hair shifting on his forehead. He is dressed in a sea blue tunic, causing his eyes to sparkle more than usual, the gold paint accentuating his already sun kissed skin.

Johanna swivels her chair back to the front, and downs another shot.

It frightens her slightly that she does not feel the sting anymore.

"Now who's talking like a pretty little maid?"

"As delightfully surly as always," Finnick laughs, a boyish laugh, like he never fully grew up after being a fourteen year old boy swinging a trident round in a desperate attempt to extend his own life. He is silent a moment, tapping his long, able fingers along the side of his glass.

Johanna shudders as she remembers those fingers trailing a line from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine.

Her visage remains stony, and she takes another drink.

"But… seriously Jo…"

"Seriously, what? I can take care of myself. One of my renters got a little handsy…"

"So you let him get handsy because if you don't the repercussions aren't worth it?" Finnick gazes fiercely at her, an edge to his voice. Johanna glowers into the bottom of her glass and drinks the next shot with more vigour that before. Finnick sighs and his head slips into the palm of one hand. "Johanna…"

"What the fuck was I supposed to do?_ Not_ punch the bastard in the face? Come on now, the guy was stupider than he looked if he didn't expect me to react like that," she adds venomously, her fingers drumming impatiently along the granite bar counter. Finnick sets his glass down, his eyes cloudy with his overuse of the scotch, and whatever else he has been drinking this evening. Johanna can already feel the disgusting memories slipping away, the dazzling sharpness of the Capitol being dimmed to a fuzzy glow.

"Come on Jo. You have a room?"

"No," she mumbles, pushing her chair back and standing. Her legs are unsteady. She has drunk more than she planned to.

Finnick takes her by the arm to steady her, or perhaps to steady himself, and begins leading her towards the gold and diamond elevator in the corner, the Avox attendants bowing lowly as the two approach the elevator. This elevator leads to the Victor Suite of the hotel; something all hotels in the Capitol are required to have.

The elevator shudders and Johanna feels her stomach drop, snatching her arm from Finnick's grasp. She's not some sort of little dolly that needs to be supported, and as the doors slide open to the luxurious suite, she immediately throws herself onto the bed, her soaked body sinking into the plush swan down bedding.

"Johanna, you're soaking my bed!" Finnick laughs as he walks into the room, his words slurred, his eyes twinkling as he too collapses beside her.

"Fuck off," she replies, although the smirk on her face speaks volumes as she rubs at her eyes with the back of her arm, watching as it comes away smeared with black and gold and the so called beauty of the Capitol. Finnick props himself up on his elbow and runs his eyes down her form.

"Come on, you'll catch your death all wet like that. Strip," he instructs her. Johanna, never one for being ordered around, turns her back to him curling up, as a sign that she is not interested in speaking with him. She hears the pop of a whisky decanter as Finnick pours himself another drink, and she is immediately intrigued.

He hands her a tumbler, and the two clink glasses, both wearing foolish grins of the used and abused. After drinking it down, Johanna sloppily begins to unzip what is left of her gown, feeling suddenly cold despite the whisky licking at her insides. She feels Finnick's long, calloused fingers reaching up and helping the silken material that is sticking to her back slide from her skin. She hears warning bells going off her in head.

Finnick only ever wants this type of comfort when _she's_ done something terrible.

Johanna turns round in the bed to see him sipping at more whisky, tracing patterns on her exposed thigh, as she presses the front of her dress to her. She tries to keep her expression as stony as possible.

"What did she do? What were you doing here tonight?"

Finnick's eyes lazily drift up to Johanna's face, his tongue running over his shiny lips in one easy stroke, and Johanna controls the warm feeling in the pit of her stomach as best she can.

"I got bought for tonight Jo… s'why I'm all dressed up," he says, his breath laced with liquor, and Johanna continues to listen, as he blinks fiercely trying to clear his head. "And she got mad… it's not my fault! Does… she think I _like_ it or… or something?"

Johanna can't help but hate Annie at this moment. She who has never been bought because she is a victor no one wants. The little crazy victor who stays in District 4, much to the disgust of others who are bought and sold. It is not her fault, Johanna tries to remind herself.

But the feeling in her belly drives her to ignore all cares as Finnick pauses before leaning in and messily mashing his lips against hers.

They've never done this without the presence of alcohol.

Johanna knows he will hate himself in the morning.

But he needs comfort. That is what she is here for. When they have both been ruined and flaunted by their buyers, they need comfort in each other. They need to be with someone who understands, who can make it go away even for a little while.

Alcohol helps a lot with this.

Finnick's fingers have already pulled what is left of her dress from her form, and is tracing the rim of her pantyhose with those same fingers. She toys with the knots holding his tunic up, her fingers not responding in their hazy state, leaving her to tug it above his head.

He emerges, eyes bright, hair stuck to his forehead in an excited sweat, hands grasping out to find her once again.

Johanna knows she should hate herself for submitting to this too.

But as his lips search her body, and their moans cry out into the darkness of the room, Johanna doesn't care.

She hates herself for everything else she has ever done.

She deserves Finnick.

* * *

**I haven't written anything in donkeysssss. And I love Hunger Games so I thought I'd put this up for some easy reading. Oh Finnick. Oh Johanna. (: Please lemme know how I did!**


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